History repeats itself
by LunaCangiante
Summary: After the Blight, Alistair didn't die. He instead he wakes up inside the Imperial Prison to chase after a bastard son to be Emperor with a man who kills for profit. Oh how the past repeats itself. Title subject to change rated T for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Okay so... Shouldn't do it. I'm trying on these other stories. I really am. Kinda. Well my progress is kinda stopped because I need to get my chapters back from my mom's. So I decided until then, I shall write this story in the mean time. Really I'm going to keep on track. Or as good a track as I can keep on. Sorry guys I just got things to do from time to time. But you all get it. So without further ado I give you this story because the thought makes me happy! Oh and before I forget, I know that this story has a lot of opporitunity for slash, it's not. Don't get me wrong, gay sex is pretty hot, but I can't write it very well. So don't think, "Oh hey she's a homophobe because she doesn't like slash!" It's not true. So once again and REALLY this time, Without further ado, I give you the story... or the disclaimers... Which ever comes first (Monty Python Voices "GET ON WITH IT!") RIGHT! MOVING ON...

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the character's in this story. I can't even say I own my hero in Oblivion because... Well he belongs to the game! Sneaky buggers! Oh well. And if I owned Alistair... Well you know how he said he could never lead? They get lost, people die, and the next thing he knows he's stranded somewhere without any pants... Yeah I'd be the one to have something to do with that. No details please.

_**Cellmates:**_

"Oh look an Imperial in the Imperial Prison," Valen Dreth, a Dunmer in the cells longer than the man across for him, taunted. "I guess they don't play favorites, huh?"

Instead of recieving a look of worry, or sadness, the man in the cell across the Dunmer stayed cool as a cucumber. In fact, at the thought of playing favorites, he smirked. 'Oh those elves,' he thought chuckling inwardly. 'Dumb as a post.'

"Your own kinsmen think you're a piece of human trash," he continued. The opposite man still smirking without fear as he leaned against the wall. "How sad. I bet the guards give you 'special' treatment before the end." That had earned him what he wanted. The opposite man's smirked dropped, quickly replaced by one of puzzlement. The end? "Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Imperial! You're going to die! Imperial criminal scum like you give the Empire a bad name, you see. You're an embarassment. Best if you just... disappeared." The creaking of the doors opening left both men looking in the same general direction. "Hey you hear that? The guards are coming... for you! He he he he he."

His victim just smirked again. "Everyones goes sometime," his dark, rich voice sent unnoticed shivers down Valen's spine. The man before him stood tall and proud, should he be executed, his brother's would know that he did not compromise the Dark Brotherhood, and surely he would reach Sithis' favor. If only to have known that a man gave his life to keep silence. After all, dead men tell no tales.

"... I'm telling you Ludwig," explained one of the guardsmen. The man opposite of Valen could see they were dragging something. Or someone. "This man just fell out of no where! It's like he just dropped in from the sky! It's a bad Omen! A sign from the Nine that if we don't change our evil ways, we too will drop from the sky!"

The second guard, Ludwig, stopped in his tracks and stared at his partner dumbfoundedly. "That doesn't even make any sense you useless git!" He jerked the man they were dragging, recieving a moan in return. "Now it's obvious this man got into a fight, and someone is dead by all the blood on him and his weapons. We sent for a doctor, but they said he wasn't bleeding. Now tell me James, what could that possibly mean?"

James looked thoughtful for a second. Two seconds, then three. The watchful man sighed. "It means he may have killed someone," he answered for the dumb looking guard. 'And I got caught by that,' it made him sigh. 'Perhaps I gave myself too much credit.'

"Heh heh heh," Ludwig chuckled. "Look at that James, the prisoner is a smart one after all. In that case, I'll tell you what, I'm feeling friendly today-"

"I don't need you to be my friend that badly," he warned.

"I'll give you a new cellmate," he jerked the man again. He didn't even respond this time.

"Now," the man folded his arms. "What if he didn't kill any one? What if he was innocent?"

"We can't take any chances," firmly spoke James. "What with the Emperor's sons being assassinated and all." Ludwig jabbed his partner harshly on the ribs. The smirked quickly changed into a full dark grin, assassinated?

"Stand back prisoner," warned Ludwig. "We'll kill you if you try to make a move." The man held up his arms in mock intimidation. But, as he was told, he stepped back towards the window as they opened the cell. Three very possible scenario's came before his eyes as he watched them step in a little closer to drop their newest prisoner in the cell. One, he could try and move quickly, disarm one of the guards and break out but leaving a posibility that he could make a wrong move. Two, he could make a run for it, but that one seemed a lot more complicated than the first as he ran without a weapon. Three, he could simply sit back and watch them leave, waiting for another opporitunity. Option three sounded the best, he cracked his fingers and stretched, but made no move to escape.

They kept their eyes on the conscious prisoner as they carefully locked the bars seperating the men from freedom. Finally, the Dark Brother's eyes looked up at the sky thoughtfully. The heirs of Cyrodil, all of them killed. What could that possibly mean? He wondered thoughtfully before another painful groan took him from his thoughts. He looked down at the man fighting hard with whatever was in his mind. A man of average build and short reddish blonde hair. He layed face down and so the Dark Brother couldn't make out his face and he didn't know if a man who killed the Emperor's son was trustworthy enough to get within arm's reach. Instead, he stayed back and observed before turning his attention to the Dunmer across the hall.

"As I've said," he softly growled. "Everyone goes sometime." Valen didn't seem to care for what the man in front of him said. The thought that the heirs of the Septim dynasty were dead left him wondering who was so powerful that they could kill three heirs? Was it the man laying on the floor who was found covered in blood? The timing was perfect, the chance was small, but if a man that skilled could kill three heirs, plus the bodyguards, he could just as easily kill both of the men in their cells. 'Too easily,' Valen thought as he backed against the wall. The opposite man smiled again. "Afraid to die?" Valen ignored him and sat on the floor. Trying to make himself as small as possible.

The moaning man on the floor finally attempted to open his eyes as they fluttered. A large hand that had been sprawled out on the hard, cold floor reached up to grab the side of his head. "Ugh Maker's breath," he moaned. "Shale if you're going to crush my head could you just do it and get it over with?" His left eye opened to reveal that he was not, in fact, where he thought he should be. Both hazel eyes shot open and he forced himself up, though it was quite apparent that he wished he hadn't. His eyes closed for a breif second before he opened them once more. Realizing this wasn't just a bad dream, he reached behind him for his sword to find that it had gone missing. As did his armor, which was replaced by a thin material and sandals instead of his boots. His sheild was missing causing the man to gasp loudly. "Where-," he noticed a man looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. A taller man with shoulder length brown hair and black eyes. Or at least they looked black, he couldn't tell within the darkened cell. He was dressed the same as himself, with the thin clothing and sandals.

"Easy," the man held up a hand to calm him. "You're in the Imperial City Prison." He knelt to get a closer look at the man. "You must have never left Anvil I take it."

"Where?" Said the man curiosly. Had the Dark Brother not known any better, he would have thought the man was a child with his soft voice and round face.

"Kvatch?"

He shook his head still unsure of what the Dark Brother was talking about.

"Bravil?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Cheydinhal?"

"Never been there."

"By the Nine man," the Dark Brother threw his hands up in the air defeated. "Where are you from?"

"Ferelden," answered the newest prisoner. "Oh Maker! How did I get here now?" 'See this is why I told Melinda I cannot lead! I'm lost, someone is probably dead, and I don't know where the pants I originally had have gone off to,' he yelled in his head.

"Ferelden?" He scratched the back of his head. "I'm not familiar with that place, where is it?"

The newest prisoner furrowed his eyebrows, trying his hardest to figure that out. "Well past the mountains in the Northwestern region is Orlais just past the Waking Sea. To the east is the Aramathine Ocean, to the north is the actual Aramathine. Oh and Highever, that's north as well."

The taller man's eyes widened. "I have no idea of any of the places that you just mentioned."

"I suppose I could be more specific and say Denerim. That's where I live."

"What is your name," the dark man asked.

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." The newest prisoner said cautiously. He'd watched his friend take this approach, it seemed to be the safest.

"I asked you first!"

"Oh well since you asked me first I suppose I have to act like a five year old and tell you!"

The Dark Brother growled but finally rolled his eyes and gave in. "Very well," he sighed. "My name is Johnathon. Not John, Johnathon."

"Last name?"

"Not important."

"Oh I see. Well it's good to meet you Johnathon Not Important." The man gave a quick smirk. "I'm Alistair Theirin." He was cautious on giving his last name. If the wrong person had recognized the King of Ferelden, he could have been in a lot of trouble.

"Ha ha ha," mocked Johnathon in false laughter. "Johnathon Not Important. You should try the telling the people your jokes, we could always use another village fool."

"You seem to be doing well enough without me," Alistair frowned. "I thought one ass was enough!"

"Well you were wrong!"

They were interrupted from their arguement when the doors had opened once again. "Baurus! Lock that door behind us!" Said a commanding female voice. It almost reminded Alistair of Melinda the way she lead the party with a tone that left no arguement. Her tone sounded strong and though Alistair didn't quite pick up on it, Johnathon noticed the panick she tried to leave out.

"Yessir," Baurus, whoever he was, answered without question.

"My sons... they're dead aren't they?" Johnathon quickly recognized that voice. It was Emperor Uriel Septim. What was he doing in the dungeon?

"We don't know that, Sire. The messenger only said they were attacked." The female, which Johnathon could not pinpoint answered.

"No they're dead," said the Emperor sorrowfully. "I know it."

"My job right now is to get **you** to safety." She persisted. The Emperor and three bodyguards, The Blades, if Johnathon's memory served him right arrived before his and Alistair's cell. The woman leading the party looked rather annoyed as she noticed the two men staring back at her. "What are these prisoner's doing in here? This cell is suppose to be off-limits!"

"Usual mix up with the watch," said another Blade looking rather sheepish. "I..."

"Never mind," she cut him off. "Get that gate open." She looked to the two men with a hardened expression. "Stand back prisoners, we wont hesistate to kill you if you get in our way." Alistair and Johnathon backed as far as they could go by the window once more.

"No sign of pursuit sir," the last Blade informed.

"Stay put prisoners," the once sheepish looking Blade had warned the two men. He had regained his posture and looked intimidating once more.

"Good. Let's go," said the leading lady. "We're not out of this yet."

They stopped before a wall in the cell, both men watched them curiously, wondering what was so important about this cell which surely lead to nowhere. The Emperor stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes caught Alistair's. "You...," He said as though he was surprised to see the younger man. "I've seen you..." Alistair furrowed his eyebrows once again. He could hardly see the Emperor in the dark, and so he wondered how he could have possibly seen each other. The Emperor took a step past his bodyguards so that he was only a few feet away from Alistair who took a step back out of the moonlight pouring in through the tiny window. "Let me see your face..." He ordered. It wasn't a harsh order, but firm. Alistair looked to his cellmate who shrugged. He took the tiniest step forward into the light. With a nod the Emperor confirmed, "You are the one from my dreams..."

Johnathon behind them, bit back a small laugh. Now was not the appropriate time to make a joke.

"Then the stars are right," continued the Emperor. "And this is the day. Gods give me strength." He said towards the heavens. Every time the Emperor spoke, it seemed to have left Alistair more confused than he was when he had arrived.

"What's going on," asked Johnathon. The question was suppose to be directed to the Blades.

"Assassins attacked my sons," explained the Emperor. Johnathon had to give the old man credit on how calmly he was taking everything. "And I'm next." His hand gestured to the Blades behind him. "My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell." Alistair and Johnathon looked around puzzled. Where in the world would they have an escaped route? Could they walk through walls?

"Why am I in jail," Alistair finally spoke up.

"Perhaps the Gods have placed you in here so that we may meet," Answered the Emperor as wisely as he could. "As for what you have done... It does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."

"Right," Alistair folded his arms. "Well they could have just said please. I wouldn't have minded just walking in." As for what he would be remembered for, Alistair couldn't help but wonder what that was suppose to mean. He figured being a king would have helped him with that. Not that he particularly wanted to be remembered as the 'Bastard King' but there were worse titles, he figured.

"Who are you," Alistair continued to question. Johnathon looked at him like he had just grown another head. Did he really not know Emperor Uriel Septim? What rock did he just crawl from out of?

"I am your emperor, Uriel Septim." He didn't seem to mind that the man had no idea who he was. "By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler." Alistair went back into his memory to figure out where Tamriel was, but drew up a blank when nothing emerged. "You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you, too shall serve her in your own way." Citizen of Tamriel? Since when?

"What should I do," asked Alistair. He wasn't used to trying to figure these kinds of things out for himself. That's what Melinda and Duncan and just about everyone else did for him.

"You will find your own path," answer the Emperor. It was just the answer Alistair wasn't looking for. If he had said, take these treaties and go build an army, Alistair found he was quite good at that. But to let him out into the open by himself, Alistair just hoped if anything happened, his pants would stay on. "Take care... There will be blood and death before the end."

"Please Sire we must keep moving," The female leader touched the Emperor's arm and lead him towards a wall. Johnathon still wondered how they were going to exit through a wall. It was just wall wasn't it?

"Sounds like another Blight," mumbled Alistair though the Emperor payed no attention. "Great."

She touched a stone and the large stones sank into the ground. Johnathon's eyes were wide as he wondered how he could have missed that. The bricks that once formed a wall opened like a door and lead the Emperor out of the cell and into the tunnels. "Better not close this one," Johnathon's ears perked up at this. "There's no way to open it from the other side." It was his chance to return to the Sanctuary. He knew it was a good idea to stay put and not attack the guards and now it payed off.

Johnathon waited for the party to leave with a certain bubbly feeling in his stomach. The sweet, sweet taste of freedom. Either luck favored him, or the Blades were much more stupid than he had originally thought.

"Where are you going?" Alistair asked.

Johnathon's eyes caught the man behind him. "Out of here."

"What if they catch you?"

"Look," Johnathon said impatiently. "You can stay in this cell to rot for all I care. But I'm not going to. Now I don't know what's in these tunnels and, cannot believe I'm saying this, but could probably use your help. Are you coming or not?"

'If I had a sovereign for everytime I had to break out of a prison for something I didn't do...,' he thought with a shake of his head. "Yeah wait for me." He sighed following his newest leader.

(A/N: Well that's the first chapter for now. Not really sure how I feel about it, but I want your opinion and I'll try to keep up with it. Also, I'm not really sure if I'm going to use any of the side quests, unless any one has a request (i.e. vampires, finding people, fighters guild) just let me know and I'll try to work it in. Also, if this one goes over well I've already got my ideas on the sequel which is going to be Shivering Isles, so don't request that one I'm already putting the ideas together. Okay so that's it and you know the drill. Read, review, and remember: I love you)


	2. Chapter 2

Well I got one review... That's a good sign. At least I know I don't have writing of the Stephanie Meyer quality (I'd probably throw myself out of a building if I did). I'm just going to keep writing my happy tale of happy and Alistair... Which are one in the same. Oh an if someone was trying to get an image of Johnathon, anyone who reads my fanfiction knows I have a slight (way understated) obsession with Johnny Depp, hence the name and the look. Oh my God that man is beautiful and the thought of him and Alistair in one... thing, is just awesome. So suck it if you have something to say about that, I don't care. On the happier note... I did get favorited, so that's awesome. Okie dokie, I'll stop rambling and finally say MOVING ON...

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the character's in this story. I can't even say I own my hero in Oblivion because... Well he belongs to the game! Sneaky buggers! Oh well. And if I owned Alistair... Well you know how he said he could never lead? They get lost, people die, and the next thing he knows he's stranded somewhere without any pants... Yeah I'd be the one to have something to do with that. No details please.

_**This all Sounds Vaguely Familiar...**_

Johnathon lead the way, peeping over corner's to make sure the Blades could not see the two prisoner's escaping. Of course, it would have been their fault for leaving an escape route wide open, but still the Blades had... Well blades and Johnathon had nothing. He didn't know how well Alistair could fight and that could have only made matters worse. The clanging of swords made the two glance at each other with puzzled stares. That didn't sound good.

"Protect the Emperor," cried the female. Nope, not good at all. A short time later, after many war cries and loud clanging, the tunnel had become silent once more.

"Are you all right, sire," asked the Blade closest to him. Johnathon could only make out that he was a Redguard by his darker skin. "We're clear, for now."

"Captain Renault?" Uriel Septim looked around. Spotting only two of three Blades. He knew the answer, but he just wanted to confirm his thoughts.

"She's dead," he bowed his head. "I'm sorry sire but we have to keep moving."

"How could they be waiting for us here?" The hint of worry in the second Blades voice was anything but subtle. He kept glancing over his shoulder making Johnathon tense, all he needed to do was stick his head out ever so slightly and it was all over.

"Don't know," answered the Redguard Blade. "But it's too late to go back now. Don't worry, sire, we will get you out of here" Their voices kept getting softer and softer until they disappeared behind the door. Uriel took one last glance behind him, and Johnathon knew he was spotted. Instead of saying anything though, he just bowed his head and joined his bodyguards.

Johnathon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in at the time. "Okay," he leaned heavily against the wall and closed his eyes. "That was too close for comfort. We'll have to wait a moment if we're to follow the Emperor and his men." He waited a second for a respond from Alistair. When he got none, he opened one eye to see the man had disappeared. He leaned his head over the wall again to find Alistair crouched down over the dead woman. He appeared to be searching for something. "So I suppose this is my turn to ask what you're doing?" Alistair said nothing at first but then he approached Johnathon with a short sword and a katana.

"Take one," said Alistair.

"You're just taking these then?" Johnathon raised an eyebrow. He was always used to having a weapon supplied to him by the Dark Brotherhood. Never taking what fell from the dead. It seemed just wrong.

"Well I did originally think to ask her for them," sarcastic replied Alistair. "But she has that little problem being dead and all."

"You don't think that's a little disresptecful?"

"What could she possibly need them for?"

Johnathon sighed. He had a point, he didn't like it, but they needed a weapon if assassin's were crawling around this place. Hesitantly, he reached for the short blade. As much as he knew he didn't have much choice in the matter, it still felt wrong. "Thanks." He muttered. They approached the door that Uriel and his men went through. Johnathon tried to turn the handle and let out a loud curse. "Damn, it's locked!"

"Now what," Alistair looked around. There didn't seem to be another way out. They traced the walls with their fingers. If there was a trick once, what were the chances that there was another one? Alistair stopped just to the right of the door. The feint sound of scratching caught his ears. "Hey do you hear that?"

"Hear what," Johnathon was at Alistair's side in a few short strides. He pushed his ear to the wall. Both of the man leaned against the wall, causing it to give in against their weight. Johnathon looked up to see the cause of the scratching. A giant, grey fat rat had been chewing through the stone. Now it stood quizzically at the two wide-eyed men, wondering if they were a possible snack. It sqeeked twice before it lunged at Alistair, knocking him to the ground.

Before Alistair had time to think, his katana was up. The rat's luck only seemed to be worsening as the man who had taken away his food from the stone wall, now fed him a mouth full of his blade. Quickly Alistair ripped through the rat's face, blood decorated the sword and a small bit of Alistair's right hand. His eyes were still wide after he realized the rat was dead. It wasn't as though he'd never seen a rat before, when he was a child and slept in the stables he counted them as they scurried by, but that had to be hands down the biggest rat he'd ever seen in his life.

"Are you okay," Johnathon tapped him on the shoulder tentatively.

"What was..." Alistair pointed at the rat still at his feet. "That was a giant rat!"

"Never seen a rat I take it," Johnathon held out a hand hauling Alistair to his feet. "Well they're around, especially in the prisons. Very big, very mean, very dangerous."

"I've seen a rat before," Alistair held out his hands to show the size. "But only about this big."

"Where are you from again?" Johnathon tilted his head. "I think I'd die of happiness if rats were only that big." Johnathon didn't wait for an answer, the giant hole in the wall caight his attention first. "Hey," he looked through the hollowed tunnel made by the rat, it was big enough for a man to fit through there, easily. How was that possible? Surely the rat couldn't have made that much room. "Rat or not, there's no way all this room could have been made without caving in. Something else is here." Alistair looked over his shoulder when something on the ground caught his eye. Was that a chest? Johnathon kneeled down to the box. "It's not locked." He wasted no time lifting the lid. With a grin of triumph he took six gold coins and held on to them. "If we're going to start looting, we might as well take everything."

Alistair didn't say anything to argue. Instead he proceeded in front of Johnathon for a little while before finding a skeleton of a man who had been in here for Maker only knows how long. At his left side layed a sheild. Though Alistair would have preferred to have had Duncan's sheild, which was a much better quality, this one would have to do for now. Skattered around the fallen man, his armer, a dagger, lockpicks (which Johnathon insisted they would need), a torch, a bow, and a few arrows. The two men quickly made through what would be useful, and what would not. They continued on their way, Johnathon leading with a torch, and Alistair following closely behind. The door on the far end of the room was locked. "Damn it all to the firery rivers in Oblivion!" Cried Johnathon frustratedly. He waved his arms about enthusiastically as he shouted. Letting the body of a man catch Alistair's eye. Without a word, he grabbed Johnathon's torch hand and brought it over to the man, now face down. Or, what he thought was a man.

"Maker," said Alistair trying to figure out what he was looking at. "What is that?"

"Goblin," answered Johnathon cooly after regaining his composure. "Who knows how long he's been here. Anyway, let's go. I'll just see if we can pick the lock to one of these doors. I doubt he has a ke-"

Just as a said it, Alistair brought the metal into view. A key. Of course it was. He said nothing to Alistair as he silently plucked the metal from his hand and went to the door. Alistair only made a face of dissatisfaction before seeing what else he could find. More lockpicks, a club, and a potion of some kind. Johnathon joined his newest companion once more, glancing over he was studying. "It's a potion for sorcery. It doesn't look too strong."

"Sorcery?" Asked Alistair. "Like for mages and stuff?"

"More for anyone who used up too much magic," explained Johnathon. "Made by mages though, they have a whole guild that produces these things. They're great in a pinch."

"Anyone?" Exclaimed Alistair. "You mean everyone around here can use magic?" Of course he'd be thrown right in the middle of them. A templar in a whole world full of mages. Great, just fan-freakin-tastic!

"You can't?" It was as normal as the wind to Johnathon. He coudn't understand Alistair's panic. He didn't know Alistair was sent off at a young age to track and kill mages should the need arise. Mages were not trusted to roam freely in Ferelden.

"No," Alistair said nervously. "So you mean that mages aren't regulated and such?"

"Regulated? What do you mean?" Johnathon was getting more and more confused by the second. Mages being regulated? Sure they had laws about going off and making someone's head explode via fireball (which Johnathon would swear was completely on accident), but how much more regulated did it have to be than that?

"Well," Alistair didn't know how to explain without getting his ass torn off and then handed back to him. "Erm... in Ferelden, not everyone is a mage... so they have to keep a close eye on the mages."

"It's understandable to study what you do not understand."

"Well not quite study. We keep them in a tower and keep blood filled phylactory's to track down a mage if he escapes. Once the templars find him... They generally kill him."

Johnathon stared at Alistair wide-eyed. "Then why have mages period?"

"Because the Chantry tell us that magic is meant to serve man and never to rule over them," Alistair shrugged.

"If this Chantry told you to jump off a cliff would you do it?"

"They wouldn't have to tell me," said Alistair. His face showed disapproval. "I'd do it just to get away from them."

"Not in approval with your Chantry then?"

"Not since I joined the Grey Warden's," Alistair thought about it though. He never was a firm believer in most of the things the Chantry said. The way they felt the need to dictate everyone else's life based on their interrpretation of the Chant of Light, which they not only changed, but molded so that the Maker only looked upon only SOME of the inhabitants of Ferelden instead of everyone. They continued down through the tunnels, killing various Goblins and even a few zombie which confused Johnathon that Alistair reacted badly to seeing a rat but not a zombie.

Finally the question that Johnathon had ringing in his head emerged from his lips. "Okay," He stopped walking. "I've heard of just about every faction in Cyrodil, Morrowind, and most of the surrounding areas. I've never once heard of a Grey Warden. What is that exactly? Some band of mercenaries?"

Alistair stared at Johnathon with his mouth gaping. Johnathon had never heard of the Grey Warden's? Defenders against the Blight? Alistair opened his mouth to answer when the voice of one of the Emperor's body gaurds echoed off the walls. "We should find a defensible spot and protect the Emerpor until help arrives." They peered over the ledge in the darked shadows off to the right. Somehow they had managed to arrive to their location quicker than the Blades, something Johnathon needed to remember in the future.

"Help? What makes you think help will get here before more of those bastards? We need to get the Emperor out of here." The Redguard Blade replied rather annoyed by the suggestion.

As if on cue, another wave of assassins attacked the two men in hopes of reaching Uriel. Johnathon looked to Alistair to figure some sort of strategy, but found the man was gone once more. "He really needs to stop doing that!" Looking down towrards the Blades, he didn't miss Alistair swinging his sword, cutting down one of the assassins with little, if any, effort at all. Though anyone with eyes could see that Alistair was only trying to help, the Blades would look at him like he was somehow involved. Johnathon knew this first hand, otherwise he never would have met the man at all. Jumping down from the ledge, he joined Alistair cutting down assassins with a much more silent approach. He'd crept up from behind while Alistair kept them distracted. Maybe having the Warden around wouldn't be so bad after all. When all the assassins fell dead at their feet, Alistair and Johnathon sheathed their weapons, but the Blades did not. Instead they looked at the two men with firey hate in their eyes.

"Damnit, its those prisoners again! Kill them, they might be working with the assassins," Both took a step to advance. Johnathon and Alistair looked at each other incredulously.

"You idiots," barked Johnathon. "We just saved you and the Emperor. If we were going to kill you we would have done so at the opportune moment!"

Alistair felt his hand instinctivly reach to the hilt of his sword, if he was going down, he was going down with one hell of a fight. Luckily, the voice of the Emperor intervined. "No," he said confidently. "They're not one of them. They can help us. They must help us." Johnathon and Alistair let out a sigh of relief before noticably relaxing.

The Blades looked reluctant at the two men. "As you wish sire." They continued onward, constantly looking over their shoulders.

"They cannot understand why I trust you," said Uriel as he stood back with Johnathon and Alistair. "They've not seen what I've seen." His voice got softer as he looked between Johnathon and Alistair. "Listen. You know the Nine? How they guide our fates with an invisible hand?" Alistair didn't have the slightest clue what the old man was talking about.

Johnathon held out his arms for the Emperor to observe. "I'm not on good terms with the Gods."

"I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens." Continued Uriel. Not seeming to care or notice Johnathon's snappy comment. "The skies are marked with numberless sparks each a fire, and everyone a sign. I know these stars well and I wonder... which sign marked your births?"

Johnathon, naturally was the first to speak. "The Tower marked my birth sire." He and the Emperor looked to Alistair, who had no idea what either one of them were talking about. He understood stars, but he never knew his birthday had a specific sign to it. He simply settled on shrugging before Johnathon sighed. "He's not from around here. He knows nothing of the signs I gather."

"You know I could have just explained that myself," chimed Alistair.

"The signs I read show the end of my path," at this point Uriel was almost whispering. "My death, a neccessary end, will come when it will come."

"What about me," Alistair asked. He didn't know his sign, how could he possibly know his fate?

"Your stars are not mine," Uriel explained. "Today the Tower, and perhaps when you find your sign, shall guide your steps on the road to destiny."

Alistair found that strangely comforting. Johnathon was the Tower, and that could possibly mean more following for him. He could follow, he could best anyone at following, just so long as Alistair did not have to lead, he was happy.

"Can you see my fate," asked Johnathon. How could the Emperor read the stars so well, but when he saw the Tower he saw nothing?

"My dreams grant me no opinion of success," the Emperor shook his head. "Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But in your faces," He took a step closer to get a better view of the two men. "I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness."

"Coming darkness," questionably repeated Alistair. Why did this sounds strangely familiar? Did he have a talk like this with Duncan once?

"With that hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied."

"Aren't you afraid to die," asked a surprised Johnathon. Most people, before he as an assassin took their life, begged to be spared. Uriel, on the other hand, seemed almost too willing to die.

"No trophies of my triumphs precede me. But I have lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death..." Alistair found some sort of kinship of knowing when he was going to die. He couldn't quite put his finger on why he felt that way though. He still had at least thirty years, and if he was lucky, possibly a few more rather than a few less. Perhaps it was knowing that he didn't have very long and there was nothing he could very well do about it now since he'd already gone through the Joining ritual. "... To face my apportioned fate, then fall." Alistair was almost sure it was something more, it almost bothered him. Instead he brushed the thoughts off to the side for now, perhaps to return to them later.

"Where are we going," continued Johnathon.

"I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls to me." A loud screeching sound filled Alistairs ears, almost knocking him over. It sounded like the cry of a mighty dragon, but once again, faded like his odd feelings. "You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part.

The Redguard Blade grabbed Alistair by the shoulder. "You may as well make yourself useful. Here," he thrusted a torch into Alistair's hands. "Carry this torch and stick close." Alistair and Johnathon followed close as they were instructed, Johnathon made a note of every chest they passed by. The next room, down a flight of steps, filled once more with assassins. Johnathon was the first to charge this time. He leapt onto the first ones back and didn't stop stabbing until the assassin quit moving. Alistair decided to make good use of his sheild and smacked one of the assassins in the head with it. While he was in a small daze, Alistair spun around slicing another assassin getting too close to Uriel. The battle was short and soon they found themselves on the move once more. Another room, far too open to be so quiet, awaited the party.

"I don't like the look of this room," Alistair whispered to Johnathon who was looking thoughtful for a moment before he nodded in agreement.

"If assassins were looking for a place to hide," he studied the room further. "This would be it."

"Hold up," ordered one Blade holding up his hand to signal the rest of the group. "I don't like this. Let me take a look." He ventured across the platform looking left and right before signalling the group once more. "Looks clear. We're almost through to the sewers." Still Johnathon walked much slower, looking around with his hand resting above his hilt, he knew what it meant to be a stealthy killer. He wasn't fooled by this trick so easily. Alistair seemed to have noticed Johnathon's tension even after being cleared, his hand was not too far from his own weapon. They approached a gate on the far right side of the room. "Damnit," cursed the Blade. "They the gate is barred from the otherside. A trap!" Everyone drew their weapons. Johnathon still didn't feel at ease.

"What about that side passage," asked the Redguard man.

"Worth a try. Let's go." They ran for the side passage. Their hopes were crushed when they saw no possible way out.

"It's a dead end. What's your call, sir?"

Sounds came from the main room they had passed through. "They're behind us! Wait here, sire." Ordered the second blade as he charged out of the side passage. "Oblivion take you!"

"Wait here with the Emperor," Ordered the first, this time directing it at Alistair and Johnathon. "Guard him with your life. For the Emperor!"

Alistair and Johnathon waited, something didn't feel right. Something about this was far too sloppy for the group that just assassinated the Emperor's sons. This was too easy, if they had barred it from the otherside, how did they get in without opening the gate? And if they died, which was more than likely, before they reached the Emperor, what would be next? More to open and close the gates, giving the Blades (and two prisoners) a chance to break through?

Johnathon began bouncing around impatiently, his hand itching on his hilt, waiting for something to spring out at them. Alistair watched out into the main room, the men were losing strength fast. He glanced over his shoulder to his newest companion and the Emperor wondering if he should help the Blades, or stay with Johnathon to guard the Emperor.

The Emperor grabbed Alistair's shoulder and spun him around. "I can go no further," he said sternly. "You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings!" He ripped the Amulet from his neck and placed it into Alistair's hands. "Take the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son."

"But I thought-"

"Find him," urged the Emperor. "And close shut the jaws of Oblivion." An opening in the wall appeared once more, revealing an assassin who sprung out onto the Emperor and sliced his throat. He was dead instantly, leaving Johnathon and Alistair staring at his corpse.

The assassin took notice of their shock and laughed. "Stranger," he bared his blade once more moving quickly in the Warden's direction. "You chose a bad day to take up with the cause of the Septims." Alistair reached for his blade, but Johnathon was the quicker of the two. In a flash his sword was drawn and he swung with all his might, leaving the assassin decapitated, his head fell faster than the rest of his body which dropped to it's knees slowly before falling onto his belly.

"The Emperor," Johnathon said out loud in a state of shock. He normally didn't mind the sight of death. Truth be told, he found comfort in it, as was his way in the Dark Brotherhood. It was more the feeling of failure, a feeling Alistair was not unfamiliar with, that caused Johnathon so much shock. He had never failed before, he was always praised highly for the work he had done. His ability with his discretion, and his blade, where surpassed by no one in the Brotherhood. But now, he was forced to look at the now dead Uriel Septim, dead because he and Alistair failed to do what was asked of them.

"No..." said the voice of the Redguard standing behind them. "Talos save us..." He reached down to Uriel to see if there was any possible sign of life. "We've failed..." Alistair and Johnathon hung their heads shamefully. "I've failed... The Blades are sworn to protect the Emperor, and now he's and all his heirs are dead," he stated flatly. Looking once more upon the Emperor's body he noticed a vital piece was missing from his corpse. "The Amulet, where's the Amulet of Kings? It wasn't on the Emperor's body."

"The Emperor gave it to me," Alistair opened his hands to reveal the Amulet in the safety of his hands.

"Strange," said the thoughtful Blade. "He saw something in you. Trusted you."

One king to another, thought Alistair sarcastically. Not the time Alistair. Not the time.

"They say it's the Dragon's Blood, that flows through the veins of every Septim," explained the Redguard. He looked up to the two men staring at the jewelry in Alistairs hand. The large, blood red stone seemed dimmer somehow, though it hardly helped that they were in a dark tunnel under the prison. But it seemed more than that, like something that once radiated had gone off inside, leaving nothing more than a dull cold rock. "They see more than lesser men. The Amulet of Kings is a sacred symbol of the Empire. Most people think of the Red Dragon crown, but that's just jewelry. The Amulet has true power, only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say. He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?"

"We must take it to Jauffre," answered Alistair.

Johnathon's attention snapped at the mention of 'we'. "We?" He repeated with a bewildered expression. Perhaps, if he didn't have other engagements, or if he was crazy, he would have helped Alistair. But now, being volunteered for, having a job to do, trying to stay as far away from this situation as possible, he couldn't find himself too crazy for this idea.

"Yes we," Alistair pointed between the two of them. "As in you and me."

"Why me?"

"Because you're just as involved in this as I am now!"

"He gave you the Amulet!"

"Guys!" The Redguard exclaimed. Alistair and Johnathon immediately fell silent. "He's," he gestured at Alistair. "Right. You're both involved now, we need all the able-body men we can get out there. It's going to be too dangerous for him to go it ," he took a deep breath. "Jauffre. He said that?" Alistair nodded. "Why?

"There is another heir," explained Alistair. A bastard child perhaps, he wondered. This is beginning to sound rather familiar.

"Nothing I ever heard about," The Redgaurd folded his arms. "But Jauffre would be the better one to know. He's the Grandmaster of my Order. Although you may not think so to meet him. He lives quietly as a monk in Weynon Priory, near the city of Chorrol."

"How do I get there?"

"First," He pointed to the passage that the assassin took to slay the Emperor. "You need to get out of here. Through that door must be the entrance to the sewers, past the locked gate. That's where we were heading. It's a secret way out of the Imperial City. Or it was suppose to be a secret. Here," he handed the key to Johnathon, who was still unhappy that he was somehow roped into all of this now. "You'll need this key for the last door into the sewers."

"The sewers," repeated Alistair. "Great."

"There are rats and goblins down there... but from what I've seen of you. I'm guessing your both experienced Bards. Am I right?" Alistair almost laughed out loud at the thought of what Leliana would have said if she ever heard someone mistake Alistair for a Bard. Far too much subtlety that Alistair did not possess to be a Bard.

"No sir," Johnathon once again answered first. "I... I'm an Assassin."

"And I'm a Grey Warden," shrugged Alistair. "If it counts for anything around here."

"Really," the Redguard folded his arms and tilted his head as if to study the men better. "I never would have guessed. Still, I don't think you'll have any trouble with rats and goblins."

"After the sewers," continued Alistair. He had no idea where he was going. "Then what?"

"You must get the Amulet to Jauffre," He looked between the two. One eager face, and one that looked like he could have made his companion explode at any moment. "Take no chances, but proceed to Weynon Priory immediately. Got it?"

"Yes," answered the bouncy Johnathon. Alistair still looked like he didn't have a clue, but Johnathon wanted out of the tunnels, into the open once more. "We understand."

"Good," he looked relieved. Still greiving over his Emperor, but relieved that the Amulet would be in safe hands. "The Emperor's trust was well-placed." Johnathon was already through the passage when Alistair stopped and turned once more to the Redguard.

"What about you," he asked. "What will you do?"

"I'll stay here to guard the Emperor's body," he explained. "And make sure no one follows. You'd better get moving. May Talos guide you." Alistair paused one more second before dropping Captain Renault's katana in the Blade's hand. "This is Captain Renault's sword. Thank you. I'll to it that it is given a place of honor in the halls of the Blades." Alistair nodded once more before quickly catching up with Johnathon.

"What will you use now," asked Johnathon who still held on to his short sword possessively.

"Um...," Alistair looked on the floor for a moment. Nothing was available currently. "Guess I'll figure that out when I need one eh?"

Johnathon rolled his eyes and pushed forward.

Dead kings, bastard children, and assassins, thought Alistair following Johnathon as closely as humanly possible without climbing on the man. Why is this vaguely familiar?

(A/N: Okay there is chapter two. Took long I know, but it's kinda long. Plus YouTube is being a butthole and half a day to load. So there you have it, chapter 2 and if you haven't gathered, Alistair doesn't really remember dying just yet. I'm not sure if I want this to be a major deal, or just something on the side for now. My offer still stands on side missions that someone wants to see, otherwise, I'm just going to can it. I might drag Alistair through a few Dark Brotherhood missions, just because he's torturing Johnathon into helping with the Amulet of Kings. And so you know the deal. Read, review, and remember: I love you)


	3. Chapter 3

Okay so momentary distraction. Honestly I'm not doing the "If you don't review me I'm not going to update" thing. I've just been kinda busy, but anywho... You know I'm honestly surprised no one has done a Fable crossover. It's kinda random I know but I was just thinking about it as I was looking through the crossover section. You'd think there would be a million of them by now. I mean seriously you crossover Twilight but not Fable? (Then again people would crossover ANYTHING with that stupid ass series! It may not make sense but Edward is in it -pukes-). So there was my momentary distraction, yay for me! MOVING ON...

Oh and a quick shout out to my one and only reviewer, because you've now become my friend, I have an idea of where I'm going with the magic and Alistair, I think you'll like it. Thanks for your reviews, you're just awesome! XD

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the character's in this story. I can't even say I own my hero in Oblivion because... Well he belongs to the game! Sneaky buggers! Oh well. And if I owned Alistair... Well you know how he said he could never lead? They get lost, people die, and the next thing he knows he's stranded somewhere without any pants... Yeah I'd be the one to have something to do with that. No details please.

_**Learning the Ropes (Or at Least How to Set Trees on Fire)...**_

The twisting and turning of the sewers proved to be less difficult than Johnathon or Alistair had anticipated. The rats and goblins were nothing new to the two men at that point, most of the other tunnels were closed off and soon they were greated by the light of day. Johnathon didn't know if he wanted to run out of that tunnel madly, or just fall to the ground sleeping. Alistair, on the other hand, was practically sprinting to the exit. Johnathon moaned in protest to keep up with his new comrad.

"Slow down man," dragged Johnathon. "We'd be no use going out there merely to fall down in exhaustion!" The sunlight shined brighter and brighter until they soon felt the morning breeze whisp across their faces. The sewer grate pushed out with ease as they found themselves just outside the Imperial City. Johnathon glanced at Alistair, who looked surprised by his suroundings. It was so quite, not the interal buzzing in warning of darkspawn, not the sounds of screaming traders attacked by bandits, or more darkspawn.

How can so much chaos be happening and everything look so oblivious, wondered Alistair. The ground surrounded his feet in fresh green grass, the sky a multitude of blues like the sea, the leaves of the trees were not dying or decaying due to darkspawn taint. Everything was so alive, while murder and darkness surrounded them. It was not completely unpleasant, if a little unsettling that no one would notice that their world is dying around them due to the deceitful vision of Cyrodil. "Maker," he didn't know he had said it out loud. Johnathon raised an eyebrow but decided against asking what was on his mind.

"We should move quickly," Johnathon broke Alistair of his thoughts. "We can do some trading in the city, we'll get started on Chorrol in the morning."

"Shouldn't we leave now," suggested Alistair. The sooner he could stop the spreading darkness, which he was guessing was something damn close to, if not, the darkspawn, the better. "There are no traders we can come by on the way?"

"It's possible," shrugged Johnathon. "But I wouldn't chance it. You're unarmed, we need better armor than just sack cloth. Besides," he stretched. "I have no intention of venturing all the way to Chorrol without rest." They followed the walls until they came across a massive wooden door with two guards standing on either side. The doors opened to a city that made Denerim seem like Orzammar's Dust Town in comparison. The city bustled with men, woman, and... Elves. There were elves, finely dressed, walking up and down the streets, conversing with Humans and some kinda green giant. Alistair wondered but decided against asking, he'd wait until he could speak without being overheard and possibly offending someone, especially the green giant. They passed several different districts, Johnathon explaining everyone as they passed.

Talos Plaza district, or as Johnathon had referred to it as the Wealthy district of the Imperial City. "Only he with the most coin may live here," he explained. "As for the rest of us, we just pass by and wonder why we were not so fortunate." They passed into the Elven Garden district. "Another residential district. Not quite as high-class as the Plaza district, but nice all the same. Remember this place, we'll be coming back to the King and Queen Tavern. Good beer, good price, and a good enough bed." Finally after one more gate and Johnathon's tour guiding, they were in the Market District.

"We can sell some of the goods we looted back in the tunnel," he pointed at a building ahead of them. "That's A Fighting Chance. They sell decent enough swords, they're expensive but I think we should be able to get you something that wont leave us completely desolate. From there we'll head to that store over there," he pointed slightly to the right. A door against the far wall held a sign displaying 'The Best Defense'. "It's an amor store. We should be able to find something. If not," he sighed. "Keep your ears out for odd jobs because that's the only decision we have."

"What about the other stores?"

"Most of them sell a variety of different wares," explained Johnathon. "Explainable in the name really. Rindir's Staffs sells just that, and I doubt you've figured out how to use magic yet."

"Yet?"

"Yes yet. It takes time and practice but eventually you'll get the hang out it."

"But I've never-"

"Did you immediately know how to use a sword?"

"No."

"Then you can be taught. Therefore you'll learn." Johnathon sighed before giving in. "I'll teach you in time."

"What if I don't want to learn?"

"You'll never make it out here," Johnathon waved his hand finishing the conversation. "Even the bandits can use magic and they'll waste no time sending a ball of flame your way."

Alistair didn't argue any further. He followed Johnathon around until they stopped inside A Fighting Chance, purchasing a longsword that, though he didn't say anything, didn't feel right in his hand. Not like the longsword he'd kept with him sense he'd joined the Grey Wardens. The armor from the Best Defence fit fine, but somewhere in him, Alistair almost wished he was wearing Cailin's armor agian. Though he appreciated the effort from Johnathon, Alistair didn't like being thrown out in the middle of Maker knows where without his effects for comfort if anything else.

They left the Market district and bought a room at the King and Queen Tavern. Just as Johnathon had said, good beer, good prices, and a bed that was good enough. They sat at the table closest to the fire, silently picking at their food as the current situation they found themselves in left the two men on edge. The Emperor dead, the Amulet of Kings in their possesion, who was to say if the assassin's hadn't already killed the last heir? Alistair didn't know how, and more than likely wasn't willing to learn how, to use magick making this little adventure of theirs much harder than it should have been for Johnathon. Johnathon, on the other hand, was an assassin, leaving Alistair to wonder if he could, or should trust the man. Zeveran had sworn loyalty to Melinda, but he betrayed her. How did he know he wasn't walking into the same trap?

"So," Johnathon tried to make conversation. "What is our plan tomorrow?"

"Huh," Alistair looked up from his plate.

"Our plan," repeated Johnathon. "You do have one, don't you?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because I'm only following you because I have to," admitted Johnathon. "I've been forced into this, and you've been staring into your plate contemplatively. I figured you were making plans."

"Leading?"

"Yes leading," said Johnathon rubbing his eyes. "You were the one who volunteered us into this! I certainly wouldn't have agreed to this if it were up to me and if this wasn't Oblivion threatening to take us all under I probably would have left regardless!" Johnathon crossed his arms and waited for a response. When a wide eyed Alistair didn't give an answer, he sighed. "Alright well let's take a look at the situation for a second shall we? We've got the Amulet of Kings and are looking for some lost heir. We'll find him by speaking to some Jauffre living as a monk in Chorrol. Following me so far?"

Alistair nodded.

"Good. Now, we still have the issue of you and your lack of magick," he held up his hand before Alistair could speak. "I've already told you this, it's important and you're going to have to learn it one way or the other. My proposal, and I want you to think very carefully on this because we could take hours or we could take months on this, is that we jump right into the magick portion. But this all rides on you right now. What do you think?"

Alistair hated that question. Usually when asked what he thought he would brush it off with some sort of joke about how he never thought at all. Now, however so much was depending on the choices he made. He very suddenly wished he had his mother's amulet. It was something that gave him comfort when he rubbed his nervous thumb against the cold metal, especially when the situation was so dire. But like everything else he owned, it was gone, and he'd probably never see it again. Instead, he took to twisting his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he searched for the right answer. "I guess your idea is as good as any other."

"That my friend," Johnathon shook his head. "Is not an answer. That's a possibility, and if you keep leaning on a possible answer, before we make the right decision. You guess you say? Well don't just guess!"

Alistair considered his possibilities. Option one: They leave now for Chorrol, with the possibility of getting themselves killed in the process because Alistair didn't know how to use magick. Option two: Johnathon could teach Alistair in a matter of hours this magick, and they would only be slightly behind schedule but who knows what will happen being even slightly behind schedule. Option three: Alistair take months to teach and everyone dies. Either way he looked at it, all these options just sucked.

"Can't you use magick?"

"Well enough I suppose," said Johnathon thoughtfully. "But not enough to watch both of our backs. Plus if I hit you in the crossfire... I'd be in big trouble. And I guess I'd feel bad."

"You guess?"

"I do that occasionally, yes. I know it seems like I know everything. I usually do, but I'm not to sure about you."

"Right... Thanks I think."

Johnathon smirked as he waited once more for his undecisive companion to lay out a plan for the next morning.

"If it only takes a few hours to learn for some," Alistair tried. Johanthon had to give the man credit for that much. "Can we try it a little now and if it doesn't work we can make our way to Chorrol regardless?"

"Ah I knew you could do it," Johnathon threw his hands in the air in joy. "An excellent plan! But we should get out of the city first. If we hit someone on accident... Well the guards don't see it that way."

Johnathon began to wonder how he was going to explain to Alistair how to use magick. How did my brother teach it to me, he recollected. He danced around his memories for a moment before shaking himself out of it. "Alright this should be fairly simple but I need you to pay close attention. This is how I was taught to use magick by my brother." He reached down and snatched Alistair's arm before extending it as far as it would go without ripping it out of it's socket. "I'm going to teach you the most basic skill of them all. A fireball. What I want you to do is imagine you're staring at yourself as though in a mirror or something. From there I want you to see a long line of fire extending from your head," Johnathon poked Alistair's temple harder than he meant to earning a soft 'ow' from his companion. "All the way down your arm. Don't get frustrated if it doesn't work immediately just give it time, believe me nothing good comes out of it." He chuckled at the bewildered expression on Alistair's face. "Just trust me, you'll be fine."

"What?" Alistair didn't know if he believed it was that easy. If it was, he'd have been able to do this a long time ago. Now he just felt silly holding his hand outstretched to nothing waiting for a fireball that wasn't going to appear. But still, he did as he was told, though doubtful. Seconds passed, then minutes, Alistair wasn't quite sure how long he'd been standing like that. Maybe an hour before he had about enough. "You don't really think that if I just keep focusing like this with my arm out like this I'm going to-"

WHOOSH!

Alistair was left with his mouth gaping wide open as a ball of flame shot out from his palm. The flame set a small tree on fire, and Johnathon smiled satisfied. "See I knew you could do it. You picked up faster than I thought you would." Alistair still couldn't take his eyes from the burning tree before him. He did that. All by himself, without having to antagonize Morrigan long enough that she'd send a fireball in his direction to destroy him and aim right for their fire for the night. "Four hours. I didn't even think anyone could hold their arm up that long."

"Four hours?"

"It'll take less time as you practice. Keep going. We'll see if you can do it again before we rest for the night. And anyway, that's just one way to do it. There are probably more, some might even be faster, but that's how my brother taught me how to cast when I was a kid."

Alistair was too excited about his newest accomplishment that he didn't ask Johnathon about his brother. He didn't notice Johnathon's slightly pained face at the mention of him either. Instead he kept his focus, that silliness he'd felt before was gone and replaced by a wave of pride. All of a sudden Morrigan doesn't seem so scary evil apostate that the Maker sent as punishment, he thought happily as another ball of flames emerged from his palm and flew through the air. Johnathon gave him a quick pat on the back as they turned back to the Elven District and settled in for the night. Both with minds full to the point of bursting, so sure they wouldn't sleep through the night.

They fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows.

(A/N: Sorry everyone. I had my Rague (preggo sister HAHA) visit for the week from Texas. I didn't get much of a chance to get on writing. Plus I had to work. So I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I honestly don't know why but all the letters and words are running together like crazy but I think it has something to do with being sleepy. Oh well, so you know the drill. Read, review, and remember: I love you!)


	4. Chapter 4

Okay I've now realized that I have not been updating for a while. Don't hit me but that was because I was debating on whether or not I was actually going to continue the story. But it seems like everyone who's stumbled across this has enjoyed so far... I'm quite flattered actually, and therefore I'm not going to disappoint. So without further ado (or my cat walking on the keyboard) I give you chapter 4 of my fiction. MOVING ON...

Disclaimer: DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the character's in this story. I can't even say I own my hero in Oblivion because... Well he belongs to the game! Sneaky buggers! Oh well. And if I owned Alistair... Well you know how he said he could never lead? They get lost, people die, and the next thing he knows he's stranded somewhere without any pants... Yeah I'd be the one to have something to do with that. No details please.

_**What it Takes...**_

Alistair awoke to find Johnathon pacing the room like a bird trapped in a cage. His face was sweating, his step was edgy, even his breathing was heavier than it's normal even breath. He glanced at Alistair with dark eyes, darker than normal with a look that could have killed. And probably has, thought Alistair sitting up finally. Alistair rubbed the sleep out his eyes before he rose out of bed and carefully reached for his boots. Something had Johnathon on edge and if he wasn't careful, he'd soon find himself on the edge of a sword.

Johnathon paid no attention to Alistair once his newest companion had gotten out of bed. Instead he looked out the window, down to a crowd of boys picking on someone so much smaller than they were. They tossed him around, yelling at him, calling him names. Some kicked, others punched, few just stood there and laughed. The smaller boy cried and reached and hollard for help but none would come. He was an orphaned, lonely child stricken by poverty and therefore uncared for by society. He was better off dead than alive. It was this that had Johnathon's attention, so tense from the restraint he forced upon hismself should he be caught and sent back to the dungeons he'd be useless. But he wanted nothing more than to rush down to that childs aid, sword in hand and show those old boys what would happen should they pick a fight with someone their own size.

"Bad morning," Alistair hesitantly spoke. Though he felt much better when his sword was in hand that, should he have to, he could defend hisself. Johnathon spun around in a sharp turn that left Alistair wide eyed, wondering what it was that left Johnathon so aggitated. "What's happening down there?" Johnathon took a step back revealing the sight to Alistair. The screaming child begging for mercy as rich kids came along and beat him senseless. Johnathon's eyes narrowed at the sight, his hands clenched into fists. "Will no one aid the boy?"

"He's not worth the risk the guards would face should one of those boys belong to the Plaza District," explained Johnathon coldly. "Otherwise they would be there before there was a chance for a fight to break out altogether." Alistair glanced at him incredulously. They would let a child suffer so that a rich kid wouldn't go home and whine to mommy and daddy that they had broken the law? "There's nothing to be done."

Alistair would not settle for that and if he was to lead he needed to show Johnathon that he could make decisions like Melinda used to. This was one of those rare moments. "Come on," ordered Alistair. "If no guards will do anything about this than I will." Johnathon raised an eyebrow but followed nonetheless. Alistair and Johnathon found themselves infront of a group of boys, they couldn't have been older than sixteen, and a young bloody pulp who couldn't have been older than nine. When the tallest boy swung his hand back to wreck the boy's face, Alistair reached out and, with a death grip, held his arm in place. "That is enough!" His voice was more powerful than he knew he could actually make it. Even Johnathon looked impressed by the sound.

The tall boy glanced over his shoulder to see Alistair and Johnathon's cold looks before his arm went completely dead weight. "Who are you?" Demanded the young man. Johnathon could tell, with his burgondy outfit and his nose pointed towards the sky, it was just as he suspected, Plaza district kids who thought they could get away with anything. The story of his life as it were. "Did the guards put you up to this? My father will-"

"No one put me up to this but me," growled Alistair. His grip tightened on the taller boy as he watched the littlest one curl up into a tiny ball and whimper. Bringing back childhood memories of when he used to be beaten up for being the King's bastard exept he used to at least try to fight.. "I said that was enough now. Leave this child alone, or so help me should I find you picking on him again." He left the threat empty, but the group knew the men were serious and therefore, when Alistair loosened his steel grip on the boys wrist, he tore it away and scowled at the miserable creature crying at his feet.

"Fine," he relented and took a step back. "But you wont always be there to protect him and when you're not I'll-"

"You'll do nothing," Johnathon took a step forward with his hand already resting at the hilt of his sword. Alistair couldn't help but feel that was a bit extreme. They were, after all, still dumb children. "Get out of here now! I don't ever want to see any of your faces again." They ran away, the tallest boy glancing behind him occassionally to find the boy was being pulled to his feet by two complete stangers.

"Are you alright," Alistair's expression softened as the bruised boy stood wobbling. His hair was red, though Alistair and Johnathon wondered if that was the original color, or if someone had beaten him until the blood had stained his hair. His green eyes glued themselves to the ground as he refused to look up to his saviors for fear they would turn him over to the guards. Not that he would have been in any trouble with the law, but that group would come back tenfold and kill him if he was unlucky, and as his current luck had shown, he was very unlucky. He wrung his fingers nervously before he nodded wordlessly. Alistair looked to Johnathon for a second, unsure of what to do next. What would Melinda do? A question that kept ringing in his head lately. What would Melinda do? She certainly wouldn't have left the boy to his fate, she would have resolved this one way or the other. The boy in rags still stood perfectly still, awaiting what was in store for him next. Alistair rubbed his chin before sighing, was there anything else he could do? They would return, and they were correct that Alistair and Johnathon wouldn't always be there to watch over him.

"Take this," he took a small pouch of coins and placed it gently in the boys hands. "Find somewhere to sleep for the night and get something good to eat." The boys large eyes widened in shock. Why had a perfect stranger given him coin? Alistair seemed satisfied with his decision, it felt good to know he could have made a tough choice, and this was going to be a tough choice to give him the rest of his coins after yesterdays bartering. Johnathon himself seemed grateful for Alistairs decision to help the boy. If only someone had offered him the same kindness when he was a child, he never would have chosen the path he found he was traveling.

"Boy," said Johnathon suddenly. "After a goodnights rest head to the Arena tomorrow. Tell them Johnathon sent you, they'll find something for you." He nodded quickly and they both motioned for the boy to leave. He scurried to the Inn that they had stood at the night before excitedly. "Why did you give him all our money?"

"He needed the coin far more than we did," explained Alistair. After a beat he sheepishly added. "Though I probably should have saved some for the road. Sorry."

"But you could have kept it for yourself," Johnathon persisted. "You could have stuck your nose towards the sky and walked past him. You saved his life, was that not enough?"

"No," firmly argued Alistair. "It wasn't. I gave him an extra day at best, when we leave do you think those boys will just leave him alone? They will come back with twice the force they used before, they could kill him easily!"

The corner of Johnathon's lip involuntarily lifted in a tired smile. "It is an admirable feature you have," noted Johnathon. "Your compassion is a talent, but be careful it doesn't always stir you away from your intentions. Come on we need to leave now. If we procrastinate any longer, we'll be swallowed by Oblivion." He lead the way out of the city where on the open path. "The path is not such a long journey. I would advise stealing a horse for our travels... but that Orc would make a meal out of us in minutes."

"Orc?" Asked Alistair. Johnathon had momentarily forgotten that his friend was from far away.

"They are giant green beings," Johnathon held his hand about an extra head higher than himself. "Tall, aggressive, and very strong. My best advice is not to make one angry, they're usually not easy to take down."

"Anything else I should know about?"

"Have you heard of the Argonians? Or the Khajiit? Elves even?"

"I've heard of Elves although not the ones with the dark skin. But the others no, I've never heard of them."

"Argonians look like giant lizards, you may have seen one or two in the city, but they prefer moist areas," Johnathon lead the way to Charrol explaining. "Khajiit are feline looking creatures-"

"A giant cat," giggled Alistair. "A giant cat interacts in society? You're serious?"

"Yes I'm serious," snapped Johnathon. "They're fast and like Orcs, not very nice most of the time. Stay in their good graces, believe me if you ever see a Khajiit fight you'll thank me one day."

Alistair's giggle quickly died and was replaced by one of shock. All of a sudden the Khajiit didn't sound so funny after all. "What about the darker looking Elves? I've seen Elves in Ferelden, treated very differently I must admit, but I've never seen an Elf like that."

"The Dunmer," corrected Johnathon. "Usually those who do not know much about them just call them Dark Elves. In Cryodil we have three different Elves. The Altmer, common snobbish elves who I can't stand most of the time, they're usually known for their abilities with magick. The Dunmer, are well known for their skin and that they can summon their ancestors for aid in battle, a powerful foe one that you do not want to make. Finally there is the Bosmer, a proud culture of elves that live in harmony with nature, but deadly in their archery. They're not too different looking from Altmers but their behavior is different."

Johnathon had glanced back at Alistair to see if he was keeping up with his information. From the blank expression on his face, Alistair had no idea what Johnathon was going on about. Johnathon sighed and threw his hands in the air. Hopeless, he thought shaking his head. He's hopeless as a leader.

"How do you know so much about them," asked Alistair finally as he tried to finish processing all that information.

"I kill people for a living," explained Johnathon. "The easiest way to kill an enemy is to know his weakness. So I studied everything I can about their weaknesses and their strength. Plus, it gives me something to do to kill a week. Erm... no pun intended." Alistair raised an eyebrow and Johnathon gave in. "Okay maybe a little bit of the pun was intended."

They set out on the road to Chorrol. Once outside the gates, Alistair made up most of the conversation as Johnathon was mostly used to traveling alone. "So how long will it take to get to Chorrol?" Asked Alistair.

"Shouldn't be more than a half days journey," replied Johnathon. "That is if we stick to the path, and hopefully can make it there without too much delay." Johnathon waited a beat, like Alistair he was full of questions. How did he get to Cyrodil? What was a Grey Warden (and finally get an answer this time)? Where did he obtain his skills with a sword and shield? Why did the guards find him covered in blood? And how did he manage to have more energy in one finger than Johnathon had in the rest of his body? "Why is it that you seem so uncertain to lead?"

"Huh?" Alistair didn't want to honestly explain that he was too afraid of being in control of someone else's life when he was never fully in control of himself. "It's not that I'm uncertain. In fact I'm absolutely certain... That I'm not exactly leader material." The vague memory of nearly begging Melinda not to make him king, which she did anyway, still hung in his mind. He sighed, knowing now what he would be forced to admit to his companion. "I've never lead. Ever. I've hardly ever been given the freedom to make my own choices, and when I do I find it easier to do what someone else suggests of me. There's no way I'd make a very good leader."

"And yet here you are," asked Johnathon. "I never told you what was right with that child. Or even suggested that we find this son of the Emperor's. You've made your decision this far, on your own."

"I was asked-"

"By a dead man," finished Johnathon firmly. "You were told to do this but words are merely wasted breath. You knew this was the right thing to do, you even decided that **I** was coming along with you. It is all up to you. So tell me before we go any further, and believe me this will determine how much longer I will travel with you, do you have what it takes to become a leader and stop worrying about some past insecurities?"

Alistair thought on this far more than he should have. If he were anything like Melinda, or even Duncan, he would have nodded his head quickly and believed it. But he was neither, he was just Alistair, always in the back nodding his head for a duty to be performed and then waiting around like a puppy to learn his new trick and earn his treats. He looked to his feet and then up to the clear blue sky. Could he really do this? Melinda and Duncan would have encouraged him to do so. It was what they would have wanted, Alistair to finally stand on his own and make his own decisions. "Yes," he replied finally. "Yes I think I do." Johnathon smiled, and their venture to Chorrol began once more.

(A/N: WOW What a weird note to end on. But I'm not exactly sure... It's once more subject to change should someone find anything they would want me to touch up on. I know I'm being kind of vague on the discriptions, but if I had to sit and write a whole chapter REALLY getting into everything about all the races and places in Cryodil, I'll lose my mind or just interest in the story real quick. So that's the story, you all know the drill. Read, review, and remember: I love you!)


	5. Chapter 5

Okay so, let's finally get on with Johnathon and Alistair's totally bogus journey shall we? I know I've been behind for a while and if you'll let me explain, I've been busy. Really really busy especially since the holidays are right around the corner. Who cares if my job is playing with R/C's (it's so awesome), it's still away from computer and so I can't write. So without further ado I give you another wonderful chapter that's FINALLY getting to the story. MOVING ON...

I hereby dedicate this chapter to my newest friend Miota-Lee, thanks for the awesome review it was really heartwarming and it made me smile :)! Also to my fabulous readers of course but you guys didn't leave me an awesome review (unless you did... then you too are awesome and my bestest friends).

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character's in this story. I can't even say I own my hero in Oblivion because... Well he belongs to the game! Sneaky buggers! Oh well. And if I owned Alistair... Well you know how he said he could never lead? They get lost, people die, and the next thing he knows he's stranded somewhere without any pants... Yeah I'd be the one to have something to do with that. No details please...

_**An Unlikely Story...**_

The road to Weynon Priory was not as dangerous as Johnathon had originally expected. Although they did run into a Khajiit who tried to take their coin, which they did not have. Johnathon found it was a good opportunity for Alistair to finally understand his opponent. The Khajiit was ready to pounce, his claws and teeth bared before the two men. Johnathon hardly saw this as a fair fight and so, stepped to the side. His furry armor would be nothing against Alistair's fresh sword they had purchased, and the giant ax the orange highwayman was carrying seemed almost too heavy.

"Don't help me," Alistair blocked the Khajiit's ax with his shield.

"Take this as an opportunity to learn," answered Johnathon as he picked at his fingernails. "Besides, you're doing fine without my help. It's like you never needed me here in the first place."

Alistair didn't reply, he was too busy ducking and dodging the large human-like cat. It was just as Johnathon had explained; very fast and very dangerous. And right now, thought Alistair, very close to taking off my head. He silently swore to his self that if he made it through the fight alive he would kill Johnathon. Finally the Khajiit's heavy ax barely missed Alistair, giving the Warden time to spin around and stab the cat in the chest. The bandit's weight was immediately heavy on Alistair's sword, and so he kicked the body away where it fell face down.

"What was all that about," shouted Alistair angrily. Johnathon shrugged and searched the bodies pockets. "Don't just shrug me off like that!" He roughly shoved Johnathon to spin around and look at the blonde man before him. "Why didn't you help me back there?"

"You didn't need my help," Johnathon sounded rather annoyed. "If I step in and kill everything that moves for you, you'll never learn how to survive around here on your own." It didn't comfort Alistair in the least. Instead he pushed past Johnathon, who could have cared less, and continued in the direction they were heading in.

The sun had almost completely disappeared as they reached the Priory. Alistair couldn't have been more relieved. Jauffre would know about this missing son and therefore once they had done their part, Alistair would no longer be a part of this madness. Johnathon followed closely behind, surveying the grounds. "My suggestion would be to search the chapel first," he advised Alistair, who was still angry with his run-in with the Khajiit. "If you're looking for a monk, there would be no better place to start." Alistair looked at the enormous building standing as a place of worship. If the Grand Cleric had ever seen that, he suspected her head would have spun around in comparison to the Chantry. Closer, however was a large house, no doubt where the monks lived.

"We'll try the house first," planned Alistair. Johnathon frowned at his companion but said nothing and followed. Something told Johnathon that Alistair was just being petty. They entered and were greated by an older monk. Alistair asked for Jauffre and, much to their delight, the monk had informed them that Jauffre was up the stairs.

Up the stairs and to the right, waited a man behind a desk who they could only assume was Jauffre. He didn't seem to notice the two as his nose was stuck in a book, unmindful of everything else around him.

Alistair cleared his throat to gain the older man's attention. "Ahem, Brother Jauffre?" The older man set down his book with a mild annoyance but gave the men his attention.

"I'm Brother Jauffre," he confirmed. "What do you want?" Alistair reached into his pocket to produce the amulet that the Emperor had trusted to him.

"I have brought you the Amulet of Kings," Alistair held the red jewel so that it hang lifeless in his hand.

"This cannot be," Jauffre stood from his seat to inspect the amulet more closely. "No one but the Emperor is permitted to handle the Amulet. Let me see it." Alistair reluctantly handed over the Amulet. Jauffre held up the Amulet to the light as though he'd be able to get a better view. "By the Nine! This IS the Amulet of Kings!"

"Certainly isn't the Amulet of Fortune," mumbled Johnathon. Alistair shot him an annoyed looked before elbowing his companion in the rib. Johnathon replied with a soft 'oof' but composed himself quickly.

"Who are you?" Demanded Jauffre. Alistair opened his mouth to answer but the questions kept coming faster than he could answer them all. "How did you get this? What do you know of the Emperor's death?"

"We were there when the Emperor was slain," explained Alistair. He explained everything from the prison cell to the ambush in the tunnels. "He told us to seek you out about his last son. He said something about closing the jaws of Oblivion."

Jauffre looked from the men to the Amulet and back again. It was a most unlikely story, however one that would not have been made up easily. If these men truly were after something, such as profit or power, why would they have turned over the Amulet so easily? "As unlikely as your story sounds I believe you," calmly confirmed Jauffre. "Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim could have brought you to me carrying the Amulet of Kings."

"Good," strechted Johnathon. "Now if we're all done here..."

"'Close shut the jaws of Oblivion?... What does that mean?" Asked Alistair. This sounded almost too easy to just drop off the Amulet and walk away.

"His meaning is unclear to me as well," said Jauffre after a thoughtful moment. "The Emperor seemed to perceive some sort of threat from the demonic world of Oblivion. The Prince of Destruction, Mehrunes Dagon, is one of the lords of Oblivion." He stopped for another thoughtful moment before continuing, clearly he was just as puzzled as Alistair was. Something that none of the three took comfort in the least. "But the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers."

"How can Oblivion threaten us, then?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Jauffre. "Only the Emperor's truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Amulet of Kings is ancient. Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods. It is a holy relic of great power."

"I don't get it," shrugged Alistair. "What about the Amulet makes it so special? What does it do?"

"When an Emperor is crowned," explained Jauffre. "He uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark, for the first time in centuries."

"What of the Dragonfires," finally spoke Johnathon without fear of Alistair cracking him again. "Do they serve actual purpose?"

"It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of."

"Oblivion?" Asked Johnathon. The first time since they had met that Alistair had noticed something, almost like fear, had crossed Johnathon's eyes. There was no straight answer from Jauffre, but everyone knew how real the possibility was.

"The Emperor asked me to find his son," continued Alistair. Hoping they could move on to something that would give them some chance of closing Oblivion before it actually started.

Jauffre sighed, reluctant to speak of the Emperor's long lost, secret son. "I am one of the few who know of his existence. Many years ago, I served as captain of Uriel's bodyguards, the Blades. One night Uriel called me in to his private chambers. A baby boy lay sleeping in a basket. Uriel told me to deliver him somewhere safe. He never told me anything else about the baby, but I knew it was his son. From time to time, he would ask about the child's progress."

Alistair could shake the unwanted thoughts of a story he had once heard long ago about another king's son. A secret kept from the rest of the world, save a small group of people, but it was one too many. He couldn't help but wonder if his father ever wondered how he was doing.

"Now, it seems that this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim throne," Jauffre managed to call Alistair back to the matter at hand. "If he yet lives."

Alistair had to ask it, he knew Johnathon was going to hate him later, but he had to see what he could do. "Where can I find Uriel's son?"

(A/N: YAY I GOT THE CHAPTER DONE. I hope it's up to everyone's standards. I did my best isn't that what counts (innocent face cued here)? Well I suppose not, not while we're this far into it, but still. If this chapter isn't up to par with the rest of my stuff, let me know so I can fix-er-up. Okie dokie? So you all know the drill read, review, and remember; I love you!)


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